| 017. A Night to Remember |

  Malachai found Xenia with her head cradled on her hand, slumped against the wall, half-asleep. A shadow of her usual self. Obviously. Her usual self would never be caught unconscious in a stairwell.

  Malachai breathed a sigh of relief at the sight. He’d taken the first few flights two steps at a time, but she looked so peaceful that he slowed down his approach once he saw her.

  At first he’d been amused by the phone call. He’d thought she was drunk dialling him. Hoped this would be the night she’d throw away all pretence, but she was too honest, and it had startled him. She’d been incoherent, rambling some kind of apology, before asking him for help. She’d said her drink was spiked, and anxiety had flooded his senses. The panic had only increased when she stopped talking back. In fact, he’d deliberately asked her to keep talking to him, just in case. But the phone was lying next to her on the landing.

  Her eyes flickered open when he got near, and she jerked as her elbow slid off her knee. His stomach lurched. He’d been certain she was going to fall, but she’d managed to catch herself against the wall and the floor at the last second.

  “You’re here,” she said, and he stopped. He didn’t think she’d ever sounded happy to see him. She smiled and held her arms out to him. He wondered why she suddenly expected a hug, and she frowned. “I can’t walk properly.” She frowned slightly, her gaze drifting off to the left. “I tried. It hurt.” Her arms lowered. One hand rubbed at her left shin. The other pointed randomly back at the landing. “Had to crawl back up.” She shook her head. “I don’t have my keys.”

  “Okay.” He ascended the last few steps and sat next to her. She sounded more coherent than on the phone. “What do you want me to do? I doubt I’ll be able to find them.” She shook her head. “Well, you seem lucid.” She gave him a funny look. “You probably just need to sleep it off. You haven’t been sick, have you?” She shook her head. He hesitated. “Do you… need to be? Would that help?” She laughed, clutching at her stomach.

  “You,” she gasped. “You just wanna put things in my mouth!”

  “Wh-” he spluttered and went bright red.

  “Sorry,” she giggled, enjoying his stuttering. She looked away at the wall, but she didn’t seem to be able to look properly ashamed while she was still laughing. “Someone I was talking to would have said that, and I repeated her voice when I heard it in my head. Sorry.” She paused. “I think I need to go to bed,” she agreed, belatedly. “But my keys are in the flat I think? Wait. I said that already.” She was frowning. “I don’t think people should see me like this.” Her right hand reached out and landed on the bricks again, running over it. She was fascinated. “I never noticed these little holes before - not holes - the black bits in these. They’re… speckled. Like an eggshell. Weird?”

  He let out a breath. It was difficult to know what to say. She was clearly rambling.

  “No. You’re the one being weird. What did you take?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How… did you take it? I mean, who gave it to you?”

  “No I… I took that other drink. Not my one. The one for you which Phillip had. At the bar. But it wasn’t Shleee’s fault.” He frowned at her. Who the hell was she talking about? Her slur was far too pronounced. “Roy.” She said, slowly. Deliberately. “That’s who she said it was. She tried to help. I didn’t change the password.”

  “Roy? That football player? And who tried to help?” He thought quickly. Phillip’s drink? He could only think of one girl that connected Phillip and a sports scholarship student like Roy. “Jessica?”

  Xenia giggled and shook her head.

  “Not Jessica. It’s a secret.” Malachai sighed. He wondered if there was really any point in asking anything. Xenia leaned forwards, looking up at him. Her lips quirked. “I like your face. Have I told you that?”

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  “You like my face?” he repeated, amazed. It was too much of a tangent. Flattering. But beyond the realm of possibilities. She smiled broadly, and reached out to run her hands through his hair. He half-closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation. Enjoying her attention. “You’re always so neat,” she marvelled. “How come you never have bad hair?” She ran her fingertips through his hair again, massaging his scalp and mussing up his hair in the process. She grinned, slyly. “I kind of like it like this.” He swallowed.

  “Messed up?” he checked. She shook her head.

  “No. I meant you. And me. Not angry. It’s fun.” Her expression dropped. “And I’m sorry. For lying. I did. Do. Like you. Honest.”

  “God,” he groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are you always so difficult?”

  “What?” she drew back, looking hurt. “I said sorry.”

  “No,” he said firmly, dropping his hand and reaching for hers, gripping it tightly. She gasped, and flickered her eyelashes, looking back and forth between their hands and his face, her lips parted in surprise. “Not that. But you have the worst timing.” She traced her fingertips over the back of his hand, not listening.

  “Phil said you should tell me to piss off because I keep being… confusing.”

  “Did he?” He wasn’t really asking. He could imagine Phillip doing exactly that. He stared at her, thoughtfully. “You’re not going to remember any of this, are you?” She just looked confused. “Right.” He couldn’t let her just sit here rambling and raving. It didn’t feel like he was talking to her right now. More like a child-version of her. It was a little disturbing, and he really didn’t want to have a serious conversation with her when she was in this state. He wanted her to go back to normal. That meant sleep. Which meant somehow tracking down Neil... or putting her in his bed for the night, while he slept on the sofa.

  He couldn't help but wonder if she was avoiding Neil, or Neil wasn't responding, or Malachai had been her first choice of call. Surely not the latter. That was wishful thinking. To be the person she relied on.

  Best to let her sleep at his.

  He looked her up and down. She’d always been kind of slender - she couldn’t be that heavy. But he’d never tried to carry someone up a flight of stairs before. “I’m going to give you a piggy back,” he decided. The last thing he wanted was to try carrying her bridal style just to end up dropping her on her head - she wasn't in her right mind as it was. “You need to put your arms around my neck.”

  She was very compliant, but not as light as he’d imagined. Not that she was exactly heavy, either. He didn’t struggle to get her up the stairs at all, except for the time that she started nuzzling into the back of his neck, which was very distracting in several ways.

  “Why does everyone smell good today?” she wondered, as he unlocked the door to his flat. After a few moments he got the door open. He managed to kick off his shoes without difficulty, but struggled to lock the door behind them and balance her with one arm. “Oh! This is your place? It looks different when it’s not covered in crap.” He burst out laughing, and almost dropped her.

  “It’s not usually,” he said, remembering last year. Their positions had been a sort of mirror to this, though her situation was more worrying.

  “I’m sleepy,” she whispered, against his neck. He shuddered, feeling goosebumps spreading over his arms. This was going to be one of those memories that stuck with him. Her lips on his neck. Even though everything about this was crazy, it wasn’t like he could shut down his physical reactions. He lowered her to the ground, and she awkwardly hopped off of his back before leaning against the wall. She wasn’t really watching him. She looked half asleep again. Whatever energy she’d regained had abandoned her now.

  He sighed and reached out to run his hands through her hair. If she woke up tomorrow and hated him again, he was going to regret this. Another what-might-have-been. But she could barely meet his eyes in response. Kissing her now would be wrong - and he wasn’t thinking about morals. He was thinking about Xenia. Who she was usually. Angry and full of energy. He didn’t want to kiss this intoxicated version of her. She’d probably pass out in his arms. He wanted to kiss her when she was awake. When she was as alert and responsive to him as only she could be. He swallowed, just thinking about it.

  “Go to bed,” he said, pointing towards his bedroom. She blinked at him, slowly, before pitching up onto her tiptoes and kissing his cheek, feather-light. But he felt an additional weight that remained even after she’d pulled back.

  “Okay,” she agreed. “Night night.” She stumbled and wobbled on her way to the bedroom, and he closed his eyes, using every bit of self-restraint he had not to go after her. If he tried to help her, he was worried it would lead to something else. He raked his fingers down his face, trying to erase the imprint of her lips on his skin. Then quickly ducked into the lounge area, closing the door before he could change his mind. The sofa was comfortable enough, and he had extra blankets, but he found it very difficult to drift off to sleep. The knowledge that she was there sleeping in the next room occupied his thoughts for the next few hours.